Is probably
my most overheard phrase of the week. I just can’t get enough, but also I am
bursting with ennui like a goose pumped with lard and entrails ready for the
pâté mincer. How’s that for a cute simile. Went to see a spectacle the other
day, was these two magical nomadic witchy type ladies singing provincial songs,
was pretty sensually assaulting if I’m being some sort of honest emo. Also got a
job for the week flyering for classical music concerts at the Grand Théâtre
that I’ll never be able to legitimately attend, but there’s something
satisfying about hustling bits of paper under condescending noses with a grubby
peasant smile. Prematurely contemplating what I want to bring home comme
souvenir, one thing I have fallen moronically in love with is wasabi crisps.
They’d be too fragile and important for the suitcase so I can see myself going
through customs with them strapped to my torso and saying “c’est
explosif!” like a hilarious publicity
stunt.
Why do I
never write about anything relevant? You’d think that reading a year abroad
blog about France would be at least partly informative or enlightening.
Pardonnez-moi.
 |
| Eternal. |
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